Soft
by temporalgambit
Summary: Huang isn't quite sure how he got himself into this mess, but he knows there's not much he can do about it now.


Huang isn't _quite_ sure how he got himself into this mess, but he knows there's not much he can do about it now.

This whole ridiculous situation certainly isn't _his_ fault; that much he knows for sure. Then again, truth be told, he isn't sure how much of the blame he can honestly place on _Hei_ , either. It wasn't as if this was something they could have planned for. Not to mention, all things considered, the contractor had definitely gotten the worse end of the deal. While Huang is by no means a genius, he's pretty sure falling into a half-frozen lake in the middle of February isn't anybody's idea of a good time.

They were supposed to have been in and out on the same day, but certain _complications_ (which may or may not have involved a lake) had caused them to miss yesterday's final ferry, forcing them to regroup in the safehouse and wait until the next morning.

And then Hei had taken a direct nosedive into the worst head cold in human history.

Granted, he _had_ seemed a little off his game even the previous morning, but Huang had optimistically written it off as a bad night's rest. But later, when Hei had woken up in the early hours of the morning coughing, congested, and wracked with chills, he'd had to mentally slap himself for not questioning it sooner.

Mao had promptly put in his two cents about how his dip in the lake couldn't have actually _caused_ the illness, and that the sudden shock to his system had probably just worsened whatever he already had. Neither Huang nor Hei had found this information particularly helpful. All Huang knew was that they had completed the mission as ordered by the syndicate, and he now had a responsibility to get his team out safely.

And if that meant begrudgingly allowing a contractor to nap on his shoulder during the crossing back to the mainland, so be it.

Serving double duty as a pillow hadn't exactly been a part of his initial exit plan, but when Hei had slumped sideways less than five minutes into the trip, Huang hadn't had the heart to push him off. He may be gruff, but he isn't _cruel—_ he figures if Hei is feeling anywhere near as terrible as he looks, he probably deserves the additional rest.

Luckily, the boat isn't very crowded—it's still early in the morning, after all—so there aren't too many people present to witness Huang's predicament. With Mao in a cat carrier at his feet and Hei sleeping on his shoulder, he feels less like a member of a very dangerous underground organization and more like an exasperated father on a weekend trip.

Just then, Hei moves—shifting his position a little, then slowly blinking open dark eyes to blearily take in his surroundings—eventually settling on Huang's face.

"Hi there," Huang greets, deadpan, "enjoy your nap?"

That seems to startle him into motion, as he lifts his head from Huang's shoulder and makes a half-hearted attempt to sit himself upright. He slouches after only a moment, too spent to make much more of an effort.

Huang rolls his eyes and (before he has time to consider his own actions) reaches up to brush Hei's bangs aside, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. Hei's eyes widen a little in surprise, but he says nothing. Huang whistles low, dropping the hand. "That's a hell of a fever," he comments, sounding almost impressed, "how's everything else feel?"

Hei shrugs, looking like he wants nothing more than to go back to sleep. "N—" and then he chokes, breaking off into a fit of coughing that draws the attention of some of the other passengers. Huang cringes, but still moves to rub his back, trying to offer some sort of support.

When it comes to an end, Hei looks even more tired than before, making a valiant (but ultimately futile) attempt to clear his throat. "Not great," he finally rasps.

Huang isn't sure if this is supposed to be a joke or not, but he snorts nonetheless, reaching into the grocery bag beside him and passing Hei a bottle of water.

Hei accepts it gratefully, taking a few small sips. He makes a face—it must hurt to swallow—and places the bottle at his feet.

And then they sit in relatively companionable silence, neither in a good enough mood to strike up conversation. Huang listens to the lapping of the waves on the side of the boat, notes the hushed chatter of the passengers sitting across from them. He can hear Hei breathing, too—a rarity, considering how quiet he's usually able to make himself. Not that he's _loud_ now, exactly, it's just that he's drawing in breaths through slightly parted lips, too congested to breathe through his nose.

Just as Huang is pondering this, Hei's breathing hitches, and he sneezes three times in rapid succession into the crook of his elbow. He makes an involuntary little noise of dismay, and Huang digs in the plastic bag again, coming up with a package of tissues. Hei looks a little guilty, trying to blow his nose quietly enough to not disturb the other passengers, and Huang takes a moment to try and reconcile the shy, embarrassed kid of twenty-something he sees in front of him with the Black Reaper he's seen kill people with a touch.

He pulls himself from that line of thinking before it can go too deep. It's easier if he doesn't spend much time dwelling on the others.

Still, having crammed the used tissues into his coat pocket, Hei looks even worse than before—so much that Huang can't help feeling a little sorry for him. With his nose scrubbed raw, cheeks flushed, eyelids drooping in exhaustion, Hei appears much younger and more vulnerable than the older man is accustomed to. It's either this, or perhaps some form of temporary insanity that prompts him to offer, "You can go back to sleep, if you want."

"Huh?" Hei looks at him like he's grown a second head.

"Lie your head back down and go to sleep," Huang rephrases it as an order, trying not to sound embarrassed. "You need it, and it's good cover. Nobody'll bother us if they're worried about catching what you've got." It's not a bad excuse for having been made up on the spot.

"Oh," recognition shows on Hei's face. He can usually tell whenever Huang is lying, but the fever must be clouding his bullshit detector. He hesitates for only a moment before dropping his head back down to its previous position, closing his eyes.

It's awkward for a moment, but when Hei's breathing evens out again, Huang knows he's made the right choice. (For the general welfare of the team, of course.)

The rest of the trip is uneventful, and they reach land exactly on schedule. Huang almost feels bad, having to wake Hei—he's certainly sleeping more soundly now than he had the night before—but it's unavoidable, so he gives him a gentle shake. "We're here, wake up."

"That was fast," the contractor grumbles, still half-asleep, but he manages to drag his aching body up and out of his seat to follow Huang—with Mao in tow—back to the car.

Freed from both the carrier and the constraints of prying human ears, Mao's first comment to Hei from the backseat of the car is, "You look terrible."

"Thanks," Hei mutters, smothering a few coughs into his coat sleeve as he collapses into the passenger seat.

Huang drops him off a few blocks from his apartment—closer than he'd originally planned, but the very last thing he needs is for him to collapse somewhere on his walk home. If Hei notices the change in distance, he doesn't say anything. He does, however, give a little half-wave over his shoulder as he walks down the sidewalk, before turning the corner and disappearing out of sight.

"You're growing soft," Mao comments from the backseat, amusement clear in his voice.

"Oh shut it, you," is Huang's only response—though silently he can't help but wonder if perhaps there's more truth to that than fiction.


End file.
